Cresta's Games
by Phiacresdair
Summary: The story of a troubled girl who is less troubled than you might think. R&R please. Rated T because it's the Hunger Games.
1. Chapter 1

Swimming . The simple word itself as an amazing effect on me. I glide through the water effortlessly. Today is the reaping. In my district, we volunteer. But not me. I spend my time swimming and not training for the hunger games. Chances are, I won't get picked anyway, or volunteer, so I just don't worry about it. I swim to the shore and pull a towel over my soaking my body. I walk along the sandy shore. We have a nice beach here in District 4. It's nicer than most districts, or so I hear. I walk, picking out seashells. I find a very round looking one with baby blue coloring and put it in my pocket. I get to my home. I live on the beach, many of us in my district do. I open the door to my home and look around. My home is very large, as it should be. I am greeted by a hug from my father.

"Hi, dad. Working today? It's only eight in the morning. My father is a peace keeper and starts work at nine. "Yes. Gotta make sure everyone is under control during the reaping!", he grins, hugging me. I look down at the green towel covering my body. "Dad, let me go get ready" I say clearly annoyed. "Okay Anna., he laughs. It's Annie", I say under my breath. My dad insisted on my name being Anna, as according to him, the name Annie wasn't strong enough. But my mom absolutely refused, as she felt the name Annie was more elegant, sweet, and girly. He finally agreed. But he still calls me Anna, much to my dismay.

I drag myself up the marble stairs. I enter my bathroom and begin washing myself in the shower. I hate my dad, I think to myself. Sure, he's cheerful and happy. But he's also annoying, abusive, and he doesn't even call me by my name. He often calls me stupid, fat, and lazy. I step out of the shower and grab a black brush with white bristles with the name "Marilina" carved in the handle. My mother. She died thirteen years ago, when I was three.

I brush out my hair and get ready. When my long dark waves are perfect, I put my hair in a waterfall braid. I put on a long flowing blue dress.

I know I look beautiful, but I don't feel like it. I put on some strappy silver heels and give myself a sad smile. I know that in about a week someone I might know will die. I flow elegantly down the stairs and find my dad in his peacekeeper suit, smiling.

"Ready to go? You look amazing," my dad said in a fake tone. "Whatever, let's go., I said,rolling my eyes.

" You will not talk to me that way, you stupid girl!" he slapped me across the face. I blinked back tears.

"Let's go, Anna. We can't be late." I start crying. How can my life get much worse than this? I just want to disappear…. And suddenly I have the perfect solution. I am volunteering for the seventieth annual Hunger Games.


	2. Chapter 2

My father and I are out on the sandy streets walking. It's always during the reapings when I think of my mother. Maybe because I know she hated the reapings. Or maybe because she was reaped when she turned eighteen.

My mother had me when she was fifteen. She was a young mother, but, she was an amazing mother. I vaguely remember standing over with the other three year olds smiling, not knowing what was going on. When I heard the escort call "Marilina Cresta"

I could feel the silence and sadness surrounding me. I knew something was wrong. I watched as my beautiful mother silently strolled to the stage. When asked what her name was, she responded, "Marilina." I saw her tuck a blonde strand behind her ear and a small tear trickled down her cheek.

I stood fidgeting with the brown lopsided button on my cotton dress trying to forget what was going on around me. But who am I kidding? A child never forgets her mother's death sentence.

I suddenly blink, remembering where I was. My father whispers "Snap out of it, Anna!" in his cruel voice. I continue walking thinking deeply about us. As people. To the Capital, we are nothing more that tiny little grains of sand. Not people, just little grains of sand that blend in with the rest of the country.

I walk to the town square and get my blood taken, and get in line with the other sixteen year olds. I don't really have many friends. Not much time for friends around here a lot. Most kids are training.

"Welcome, welcome!", the capital accent rings off of the microphones. Dash, our district escort is standing at the top of the stage, with a big purple afro looking wig. Her eyes are coated in green eyeliner and her skin is dyed bright pink. I think she looks ridiculous.

"The time has come to select a courageous young man and woman, for the honor of representing District four in the seventieth annual Hunger Games.

Dash reaches into her reaping bowl, thinks for a minute, and reaches deep into the bowl, and pulls out a name. " Ladies first!"

I shoot my hand up. "My name is Annie Cresta, and I volunteer as tribute!", I declare. I get some strange looks, because they know I don't train, but I walk right up to the stage.

"Um, okay, let's hear it for Annie Cresta!", Dash claps and a few other people join in slowly.

"And now, for the boys!" Dash reaches into her reaping bowl and pulls out a name.

" Marka Anthonez!", she announces. Marka smiles and goes up to the stage. He was training very hard for the Hunger Games. I had seen him around the District a couple of times. He had dark brown hair and brown eyes with tan skin. He was at least 6'0. I knew he had a good chance at winning. He gave me a friendly smile and we shook hands.

I looked down to see my dad glaring at me. He knew what I did was idiotic, but I didn't have to fear him. I was leaving. Going to the Capital. I could even die. I would be happy. At least for a week or two. And it was all worth it.


End file.
